


Kilig

by FabulousPotatoSister



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 05:16:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15879306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabulousPotatoSister/pseuds/FabulousPotatoSister
Summary: n. that “butterflies-in-your-stomach” feeling you get when you see something romantic happen.





	Kilig

Your computer is broken again.

 

You would have thought that after all of the technological innovations that had happened in the last twenty years, blue screens of death wouldn’t be happening anymore.

 

Apparently, they still do.

Your screen is not  _blue_ , though – it’s a garish, flashing yellow, just like the road signs, with “System Unavailable” written in blocky letters. The error’s code number scrolls through the bottom of the screen, as well as a message telling you to visit a technician.

 

This is the fourth time this has happened this week and you really didn’t want to borrow someone else’s computer again because it was embarrassing, damn it, and it made you look like an idiot. It was almost like the fates had decided to make you the unluckiest person alive.

 

But you didn’t have a choice. Screw the fates, you decide, standing up from your chair like a petulant child, computer or no computer you were going to finish your report. The question was, who were you going to ask?

 

Definitely not Reed, you think, as you circle near his desk – you’d already used his computer the first time this happened, and all he did was whine in your ear about how he wasn’t getting any work done. Anderson wasn’t a bad idea, but he wasn’t at work and he’d definitely chew you out for using his desk even with permission. Now Connor…

 

Connor, the android sent by Cyberlife. He’d stopped introducing himself as that just a few weeks ago, and now introduced himself with “My name is Connor”. To be honest, you didn’t know much about the once-uptight android, aside from his huge role in the android revolution. It made him seem like a celebrity, albeit one that some hated.

 

He’s sitting at his desk, his fingers moving at astronomical speeds over his computer’s keyboard. His face is relaxed, unlike everyone else’s in the precinct (which were mostly furrowed brows and muttered curses) and he looked –  _happy_. Satisfied, even.

 

You had to admit, it was nice to see the guy happy, after all he’d been through.

Walking towards his desk, you ignore the stares you’re getting from your co-workers. People rarely talked to Connor, despite his now friendly disposition. He was trying his best to understand  _emotions,_ now that he was a deviant. You were gonna be nice. Being nice was rare in the DPD.

 

“Hi, Connor.”

 

Connor looks up and greets you with a nod of his head. He doesn’t stop typing, but he isn’t even looking at the keyboard. “Hello, detective. How may I help you today?”

 

Your heart is pounding in your chest, you’re pretty sure you’re sweating your face off, and you feel like running away. But Connor’s friendly eyes keep you going.

 

“Can I use your computer?”  _Oh God, you can’t stop talking_. “The computer at my desk is just not working and I really don’t wanna get attacked for not finishing this report and I feel like you’re the only one I can turn to right now so -”

 

You trail off. Your voice sounds too small and too timid for a detective, and you curse inwardly. You keep your hands clenched at your sides, already thinking of an escape plan –  _if Connor says no, then I’m maybe fully prepared to  use Anderson’s desk and get my ass handed to me –_ but Connor nods again, and rises out of his seat in one fluid motion.

 

You’re frozen.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yes,” Connor says politely, gesturing to his computer. “I’ve already finished my report, and I don’t need to manually send it. You can use my desk.”

 

When the corners of his lips quirk up and he  _smiles,_ your plan to finish your own report goes sailing out the window _._ There’s no judgement in his eyes, or mockery. The smile he gives you is genuine. It’s even more genuine than some of the smiles humans have given you.

You sit down in his chair. Connor smiles again, and moves to sit at Anderson’s desk.

 

Now, if Connor smiled at you everytime you had to borrow his desk, you didn’t really mind your computer breaking anymore.

 

-

 

Connor’s standing beside you like a watchdog.

 

Just a few hours ago, you had come up to him, pointed at the workers carrying your desk and your computer out, and sheepishly asked, “Is it okay?”

 

He’d gaped a little bit, his LED flickering into a tense yellow, but he nodded either way. He’d still gotten out of his chair with the same politeness as before, but he did do one thing differently.

 

See, the first time you asked him if he could use his desk, he’d gone to another one and continued working there. The next days, you used another guy’s desk. Today, when you asked him, he got up, adjusted his jacket, walked to the side of his desk, and just  _stood there_.

 

You’d been working for two hours now. Connor’s still standing there.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask him for the fifth time, and wince when you hear a coworker groan.  _Hey, I’m just concerned for him._  “You’ve been standing for hours.”

 

“I’m okay,” Connor replies. He doesn’t meet your gaze, instead watching the other officers walk around the office like cogs in a well-oiled machine. “Androids don’t feel discomfort in situations like this.”

 

“I do,” you shoot back. “My legs would feel like crap if I was standing for two hours. It would be nice to see you sit down.”

 

It’s not a command, but you see Connor’s posture straighten.

 

Panic overcomes you. Did you upset him? “But only if you want to. I’m not – forcing you to do anything. You can stand there if you want to, you know what, I’m okay with it.”

With that, Connor turns around. It’s hard to decipher the look in his eyes, and his LED – even after  _two whole hours –_ is still the same tense yellow, like all he’s been doing for all that time is  _thinking._  About what?

 

There’s a thick silence between the two of you, and you hold his gaze. You’d always thought it would be intidimating to lock eyes with an android, a being that many would argue had no soul, but it isn’t. You try to send a message with your eyes –  _Hey, I’m just concerned, I’m not trying to make you follow orders._

 

He seems to get it, because his LED cycles back into the calm blue you’re used to seeing.

“I’d rather stand,” he says slowly, and a warm feeling spreads across your chest. He looks so satisfied to be making his own decisions, you note. Not like the kind of satisfaction that’s proud, but a quiet one. “Thank you for the concern.”

 

“No, thank you. I was getting out of hand.” Your face is burning now, and you tear your eyes away from his  _face_ and continue typing. Just one letter after the other.

 

Time passes. Through a haze of stress and unreadable walls of text, you hear someone call your name. You’re not surprised at the way your heart drops into your stomach when you see that it’s not Connor, but a  female co-worker of yours. A ring flashes on her neck, the pretty thing hanging from a delicately crafted chain.

 

“Hi,” she almost drawls. “Listen, I know we don’t talk much, but I want you to take this.”

 

In her hands are a bunch of fancy-looking envelopes. They’re offwhite with an flowery pattern embossed into the paper – she grins at you, her smile threatening to consume her entire face. You can only give her a half-smile in response.

 

She pushes one envelope into your hands and walks away, still smiling – suddenly you realize that’s the smile of someone hopelessly in  _love_.

 

“Oh God. I know what this is,” you grumble, nails picking at the fancy wax seal. Connor tilts his head, but he looks amused – a smile almost playing on his lips. “Don’t bother, Connor.”

 

After a few more scrapes, the wax seal crumbles, and you waste no time in getting whatever was inside the envelope out. The paper is the same color, with a delicate and flowing message written inside of the…

 

“…It’s a wedding invitation.” What did you expect? A funeral invitation? You bring your hands to your temples, a piercing pain starting to build just between your eyes. “Okay. I don’t even know that girl and she invites me to her wedding? It’s like she’s attacking me for my lack of a love life.”

 

You’ve had relationships before. Some of them ended peacefully, others not so much. But you loved being in love – you loved the sickening sweetness of falling in love, you loved the comfort of being in love, you loved the relief of being loved in return.

 

But things don’t work out all the time.

 

“Well,” Connor begins, “I could accompany you, if you’d like.”

 

It’s like your heart stops in your chest and you want to a) jump into Connor’s arms and thank him profusely for saving you from a potentially awkward situation, or b) agressively deny his request because people are gonna think you’re together.

 

_Ah,_ your brain goes,  _here’s option C – accept his offer calmly and aggressively deny the possibility of the two of you being together._

 

“I’d like that, thank you,” is the only thing you can manage, and instead of someone groaning, you think you can hear someone in the station squeal.

 

“ _Eee_ , they’re so cute!”

 

-

Connor looks good in a suit, you discover. Connor looks  _really, really good_ in a suit.

 

It’s nice to see him out of his Cyberlife jacket and into something a little more human – but he doesn’t lose the color. His suit is still a cool grey, his tie the same color as the blue accents on his original jacket. The suit looks good, yeah, but the man in it?

 

“How do I look?” Connor asks, and you have to keep yourself from falling over because he looks  _stunning._ His hair is neatly combed back, and it’s getting hard to ignore the fact that he is just really pretty.  _I can appreciate my friend’s beauty without making a big fuss over it. Stop acting like a schoolgirl with a crush._

 

“You look great,” is what you settle on, and Connor smiles in response. “Like, really good. You clean up well.”

 

“I do learn things exceptionally quickly,” he says, almost beaming. He looks so proud of himself. “Thank you.”

 

The wedding, to put it lightly, is  _boring._ You spend a while just watching the people chatter in the seats, and although you coo at the little kids all dressed up as flower girls and ring bearers, the couple hasn’t even showed up yet. You’re just leaning back in your chair, the cream-colored piece you’re wearing spread out in a way that most people would say is unmannerly.

 

“I take it you don’t like weddings?”

 

Connor’s question takes you by surprise.

 

“No, I don’t hate them,” you mumble out. All these happy couples. It felt childish to feel petty and lonely and to dislike things that made everyone else happy. “It’s kind of… yearning for something that I feel like I can’t have. Living here in Detroit, being who I am – I have friends, and I have close friends, but - “

 

You sigh.  _I can’t believe I’m spilling my heart out to the guy who owns the computer I’m hogging._ “I miss being in love, you know? It’s nice.”

 

Connor falls silent, his LED cycling between yellow and blue.

 

“They’re here!” someone yells.

 

You whip your head around to see the girl who gave you the invitation walk down the aisle, looking the happiest anyone can be, clutching a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She catches your eye and she smiles – the same smile you’d had on your face before, many times.

 

Not long after, another girl appears, dressed in a dress just as beautiful as her bride-to-be’s – she practically runs down the aisle, her eyes crinkling up as she grins at the love of her life. The looks on both of their faces makes you forget how bad weddings make you feel, and in the moment, you’re just -

 

“Oh my God,” you splutter, feeling like your heart is just about to melt, “oh my  _God,_ they’re so cute.”

 

The brides whisper something in each other’s ears, and you feel a warm chill run down your spine. They’re so  _in love_ that you cacn’t help but feel happy for them.

 

“I take it back, I love weddings,” you say dreamily, grabbing onto Connor’s arm. The fact that Connor stiffens at your touch doesn’t bother you, because you honestly don’t care.

 

“You seem even happier than the couple,” Connor says. He tilts his head, a stray strand of hair falling over his face. “I’m not sure I understand.”

 

“Oh, Connor.” You look up at him, and he raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know. I’m happy that they’re happy. I’m in love with their love.”

 

And it was true – the two of them were definitely something to admire. Love like that was rare.

 

“Well…”

 

Your heart jumps in your chest when Connor slips his hand into yours, looking straight into your eyes. He smiles at you (and it’s here that you realize his smile is incredibly dangerous), his face tinted blue.

 

“If it helps, it seems that I feel the same way.”


End file.
